


Normal

by linearleaf



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Christmas Fluff, Connor Deserves Happiness, Drug Dealing, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Gen, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Verbal Abuse, but it will get better, everything kinda sucks at first, hopefully, it gets happy I swear, its really just angst at first, no beta we die like men, people are ooc and im sorry, some actual fluff for once good lord
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-09-07 01:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16844752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linearleaf/pseuds/linearleaf
Summary: You think that after a few years of living in one place, you start to know what is considered "normal" and what isn't. Cleaning the dining room table, for example, is normal. Doing the dishes for a foster sibling is normal. Doing homework after school is normal.Meeting two men behind a bar to give them a bag of red ice for some cash because his foster dad told him to, Connor thinks, is definitelynotnormal.





	1. Red

Connor, tossing his backpack up and onto the top bunk, kicked off his shoes, and sat down at the poorly cared for desk that was haphazardly shoved against one of the corners of the small room. He nudged open the bottom drawer (the one that wasn’t sealed shut by a leg of the only other actual bed in the room) and pulled out a pair of cheap headphones and an iPhone from the mid 2010s that Connor was extremely grateful still worked almost 30 years later. Putting the earbuds in, he turns on a loud mix of jazz and heavy metal, and lets the smooth tones of Frank Sinatra and the thick, massive sounds of Knights of the Black Death erase the noise of his foster parent’s house.

Speaking of, the house was, um… _quieter_ than usual. Like, _really_ quiet. As in, _no one is arguing **at all**_ kind of quiet, which, by itself, was cause for alarm. This house was almost _never_ quiet. Not trusting the silence to stay, well, silent, Connor carefully hid the phone back in the drawer and tiptoed to the closed door of the bedroom. Leaning his ear against it, he held his breath and tried to focus on the even the _possibility_ of voices. After a while, it didn’t seem as though anything was going to happen, but just as he was going to return to his playlist, his foster mom, Victoria Williams, spoke.

“Todd, I thought we talked about this,” she started, speaking in a low voice. “You know that damn caseworker can practically smell this shit, right?” 

“I’ll just get the brat to clean it up. He always leaves this place spotless. Besides,” his foster dad trailed off, almost as if he were gesturing to something. 

“No, Todd. I’m not going to do it with you. As I fucking told you earlier, the damn caseworker could be showing up today, and if you’re going to get high, you better make yourself scarce around then. You know what happened with the last ones, and I’m making sure that won’t happen again.”

“Fine!” Todd responded, and the sound of a chair being pushed back harshly filled the room. “Then get the shitbag in here to clean this up. I sure as hell won’t.” 

Victoria huffed, then light footsteps made their way to Connor’s room as heavy footsteps stomped to what sounded like the master bedroom. He quickly slipped away from the door and pulled out some homework to make it look like he was busy. He got lucky, because just as he picked up the pencil and started faking his way through the first problem, Victoria busted in.

“Connor, “ she began, almost sweetly, “the dining room table is a complete mess. I need you to clean it up before Amanda gets here to “check up” on you. Not like she needs to, but,” she muttered, cleared her throat, then stated, “I want this place nice and tidy for her.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that as soon as I finish this problem,” Connor responded. He knew it wouldn’t work, but maybe…

“Connor… You know it doesn’t work like that. Get up, _now_ ,” she demanded, voice losing all kindness. Not wanting to incite her wrath any further, Connor quickly scrambled out of the chair and moved to the kitchen of their small home. On the way, he passed Daniel, a 14 year old kid the Williams had _graciously_ taken in, who was sitting on the floor of the living room, quietly scrubing a mysterious red stain in the carpet. Connor gave him a questioning look as if to ask _what happened?_ but Daniel just shrugged and scrubbed harder. 

In the kitchen, Connor wet an already damp-ish washcloth and scrubbie and took them into the dining room, where Todd’s keys and dusty jacket sat innocently on the red-stained table. After moving his stuff as gently as possible, Connor started on the stain that strangely matched the one Daniel was cleaning. After making the connection, however, Connor thought it would be best to just forget it and focus on making the table in front of him as not-red as possible. 

Right before Connor was about to move Todd’s things back onto the now clean and drying table, the sound of someone clearing their throat alerted him to Todd himself standing in the archway. Flinching slightly, he set Todd’s stuff down and stood at attention, eyes not daring to meet his foster dad’s. Sneering, Todd glared at Connor, snatched his jacket and keys, and stalked off into hall, probably making his way to the master bedroom once more.

Connor breathed a sigh of relief, then put the washcloth and the scrubbie back in the kitchen. Noticing the pile of dishes in the sink, a chore that usually belonged to Shaolin, another foster kid that just so happened to be out of the house at the moment, he thought that he would try to get on Victoria’s and Todd’s good side by doing it for him. 

As he cautiously took the clean dishes out of the dishwasher, Todd’s loud and grating voice echoed through the walls again. “Vic, I need a favor,” he began. _This can’t be good_ , Connor thought. _Todd never asks Victoria for favors_.

He didn’t hear Victoria respond, but Todd continued anyways, speaking a little softer, “I got a thing going on tonight, but because of the…” he trailed off, then, and Connor had to strain to hear this, “ _incident_ ,” another pause, then, louder, “earlier, I need you to do it.” 

Victoria laughed, which turned into more of a scoff, then, with an audible roll of her eyes, “Me? Todd, you know I have to be home for when that damn caseworker gets here. She could be here any day now! Any minute, really!”

“Well, “Todd replied, raising his voice to match Victoria’s incredulous one, “I can’t do it. There’s too much risk for me!”

“Then what do you want _me_ to do about it?”

Connor stopped taking the dishes out at a long pause in their conversation. He really wished that the walls in this place were thicker. Then, right as he moved to put the silverware away, Victoria popped out of the hallway with a smile to rival the Cheshire Cat’s devilishly sly one.

“Connor,” she said charmingly, sweeter than honey. Connor did not trust this at all. Not one bit. 

“Todd and I need a favor from you.”

\----- 

Connor wanted to say no so badly. He knew about the drugs, or at least, had a rough understanding of what was going on. He knew what it could make Todd act like. He knew that Todd also had a very strange line of income, and how the kids would be fed well one day but almost starve the next. He knew that Victoria, however she played a role in this, didn’t approve for the sole purpose of keeping the kids around to collect the checks that came with them. And yet, Connor never expected his foster parents to ask him to do this.

They said it was simple. Todd did this all the time, and he was perfectly fine, he just couldn’t do it tonight because his back was acting up again (a common excuse they used to make Connor get them a beer, or a glass of wine).

All Connor had to do was show up with the bag (filled to the brim with the same suspicious red color and material he and Daniel had been cleaning earlier) behind Jimmy’s Bar, give the bag to some guys who were probably there already, collect the money, and head home. Simple. _Easy_. Even Daniel, who had yet to turn 15, could do it, so surely this wouldn’t be a problem for Connor.

So, with a crooked smile from Todd, the grin of a snake from Victoria, a bag of red ice in his pocket, and a shove to his back, Connor set off in the cold winter towards Jimmy’s Bar.

He took a deep breath and watched it turn to white, wispy fog as he blew out. The bag felt oddly warm in his pocket where his hand held tightly to it. This can’t be right, Connor thought, this can’t be legal, but ignoring his internal protests, he walked on. 

He shivered as he rounded the back corner of Jimmy’s. Though he’d never been inside, being underage and all, Connor knew that this was not a place he wanted to stay for long. He leaned against the cold brick, right next to a large metal trash bin, thankfully empty and smell free, and waited. 

After a few minutes, Connor began to worry. Weren’t they supposed to be here by now? He glanced at the entrance of the alley cautiously. In his other pocket of the thin jacket, Connor searched blindly for his coin to fiddle with. Finding it with relative ease, he relaxed, took another deep breath, and moved his gaze to the poorly kept pavement. As he moved the coin back and forth between his fingers, Connor listened to the sounds of the small town around him, muffled by the snow. 

That’s it! They are just a little behind because of the snow, Connor rationalized. Soon enough, they’ll come walking around the corner and Connor can go back home. All he has to do is be patient, and they’ll come walking up to him. Easy. Simple. Even a 14 year old could do this, and Connor was almost an adult, so this should be as easy as pie. 

A couple more minutes in silence, and two men actually dressed well for the weather rounded the corner. One was tall, wore a dark beanie and heavy coat, was rather broad shouldered, and stood with his arms crossed. The other was just slightly shorter, had the hood up on a large hoodie, and was fiddling with what seemed to Connor was his back pocket. Suspecting that these were the guys Todd told Connor about, he pushed himself off the wall and turned to them, one hand on the bag, the other still fidgeting with his coin, both still in his pockets.

The shorter one spoke first. “Hey, kid. You with Todd?” Connor nodded, but made no move to walk closer to the men. “Good, good.” He took off his hood, a head of brown, short, disheveled hair becoming free with it, and pulled out what seemed to be a wallet. Connor took a step closer. These were definitely the men Todd told him about. 

Connor took the bag out of his pocket and finally spoke to the men. “Here’s what you asked for,” he stated simply, hoping that this would be as simple as Todd and Victoria had made it out to be. 

The men seemed to be surprised when Connor held out the bag. “Red Ice, right?” Connor said. When they didn’t move to take the bag or to hand Connor the expected payment, Connor spoke again, his voice wavering only slightly. This _should_ be simple, right? “It’s all there; I’m sure of it.”

The tall one uncrossed his arms, said, “Welp. That was easy,” Then reached for something on his side. The shorter one grabbed the bag, shoved it into his own pocket, then mirrored his companion, but flipping open a badge instead of pulling out a gun.

Wait.

A _gun?_ A **_badge?_**

Almost immediately, the cogs begin to turn in Connor’s head as the shorter one said, “Detective Gavin Reed, Detroit Police, kid. You’re under arrest.” The other said, “Lieutenant Hank Anderson. You’re coming with us.”

Connor didn’t move for a solid 10 seconds, and neither did the Lieutenant or the Detective. “Well?” Detective Reed said, lowering his badge as Lieutenant Anderson followed suit with his gun, “C’mon, kid.”

Right as the Detective reached for his side where his gun was undoubtedly holstered, Connor bolted to their right, dodging the Lieutenant’s grasp as dashing around the corner. As he ran, he heard the Lieutenant curse, “Fucking hell! After him, Gavin!”

\-----

Connor didn’t know these streets very well at night, he realized, as he gulped down the cold winter air as he narrowly avoided slipping on a patch of ice rounding yet another corner. Despite it only being about five minutes since he started running, Connor felt exhausted. He needed a place to catch his breath. He ducked behind a parked car as he heard the Lieutenant and the Detective round the same corner just seconds after he did. “Shit!” He heard the Detective shout. “Where the fuck-” he started, but went silent as his partner shushed him. 

Connor tried to stifle his breathing, he really did, and as the duo stepped closer to Connor’s hiding place, he held his breath and snuck around to the other side of the car. Connor, peeking around the back end of the vehicle, could now see the two trying to sneak up on an alleyway to their right. He froze as the Detective, and possibly the Lieutenant too, entered the alleyway, focusing on him as he disappeared around the corner, then made his way around the left side of the car he just snuck from, coming face to knees with none other than Lieutenant Hank Anderson. 

Slowly, Connor lifted his eyes to the Lieutenant, taking note of the handcuffs in one hand and the gun in the other. “Gotcha, kid,” he said, loud enough for Detective Reed to hear. He then stood Connor up and turned him around (with maybe just a little more force than necessary) and slapped the cuffs on his wrists. “You ain’t getting away now,” he huffed, stating the obvious. 

_Great,_ Connor thought, sarcastically. _Just great. What a wonderful ending to this completely normal night._


	2. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is taken to the station. He takes an overnight nap. He says some things he wishes he didn't.

The ride to the station was an uncomfortable one. Connor sat awkwardly, the cuffs digging into his hands and back as he tried to lean back against the seat, and to make things worse, his right sock had gotten soaking wet from his failed escape. The officers sat in front of him, neither saying a word, and that was uncomfortable for an entirely different reason. 

Connor knew he was in trouble. There was no doubt in his mind that this whole situation wouldn’t end in his favor. Connor just wished that they would at least try to talk to him, but after reading his Miranda rights after being handcuffed earlier, neither of them spoke. Connor thought about bringing up some casual conversation, or maybe trying to explain why he was trying to sell drugs to the police, but he quickly dismissed those thoughts. It's probably good to stay silent - the less Connor says that could possibly be used against his case, the better. 

As the old car (which was most definitely _not_ police standard) rounded an icy street corner, the Lieutenant broke the silence with a totally casual “So…” 

It seems someone else besides Connor was also getting increasingly uncomfy at the stretch of quiet. “What’s your name, kid?” The lieutenant moved to see Connor through the rear view mirror, and tired, ice cold blue eyes pierced his own. Connor made a mental note to try and stay on this man’s good side. He did not want to see those eyes angry.

Connor said nothing at first, but just as he saw Detective Reed moving to turn around and speak up, he blurted out, “Connor. My name is Connor.”

The detective completed his turn, now looking at Connor head on. He spoke with a practiced sarcasm that made Connor want to curl in on himself and disappear. “Connor? Just Connor? No last name?”

“Just Connor.” It sounded more cryptic than Connor wanted, but oh well.

“Well, _Just Connor_ ,” Lieutenant Anderson said, patronizingly, as Detective Reed swiveled back around to sit properly, “What were you doing out there? You know, other than trying to sell us only the most addictive and dangerous drug on the market right now.”

Connor pursed his lips. _Nope_ , he thought, _not answering that one. Not in a million years, sir._

After a swath of more uncomfortable silence, and as the lieutenant parked the car, Detective Reed rolled his eyes. “We’re not going to get anything out of him here, Hank. Let’s get him inside a cell and see if he changes his mind then.” He shot a pointed look at Connor before climbing out of the car.

“Fine, fine,” came the lieutenant, “It’s cold as shit out here anyways.” He exited the car, grabbed Connor, and followed Detective Reed, letting him take the front of the tiny escort party. Connor went silently and compliantly; if he tried to escape again, it might end up in him getting shot, and bullet wounds are probably harder to take care of than a papercut.

\-----

The first thing Connor noticed as he was led into the station was just how _blue_ it was. Almost every surface either was blue, had blue in it’s design somewhere, or was reflecting the color and bouncing the very blue light elsewhere. With the addition of the night-darkened windows, the station carried a very _icy_ mood. This was an establishment of law, and of order. Justice here is blind, harsh, and cold. Connor just hoped that the lieutenant and the detective didn’t hold quite the same attitude.

The first real stripe of color other than blue, white, or black was the large, thick (and striped near the front of the cell), red line against the white wall of (what Connor could only assume was) his holding cell. A large, fading number 2 decorated the right wall. The only other thing in the room besides the bench/bed hybrid was a small toilet with an even smaller sink attached to the top. Lieutenant Anderson led him in, then locked the door by scanning his handprint as he left. He sighed, “I need a coffee. I’m too old for this shit.” Gavin rolled his eyes next to him, but followed him out of Connor’s line of sight, tossing a _don’t go anywhere_ towards Connor’s direction. Not like he could, but ok.

Connor sat down on the bench. He took a single deep breath, let it out, then shoved his hand into his jacket pocket. He desperately hoped that his coin hadn’t fallen out as he was running, and he breathed a sigh of relief as his fingers made contact with a silver quarter, minted in 1994. He took it out and began to attempt some coin tricks he had taught himself to help get his stress and anxiety under manageable levels. It worked, it always did, and that alone made Connor breathe another sigh of relief.

He tossed the coin from hand to hand, catching it with a practiced ease (and a practiced speed) that only years of repeated skill building could accomplish. He flicked it into the air, landing it exactly on his knuckles, and Connor rolled it left and right before flipping it down and into his palm again, where he started tossing it back and forth again.

He took another deep breath. _Everything is going to be okay_ , he thought. _There is no need to panic right now._ He continued to play with the coin, taking deep breaths, and ignoring the outside world for as long as he could. 

The whoosh of the door opening startled the coin out of his hands, where it landed on the floor with a soft _ding_. Connor looked up to see Lieutenant Anderson enter, a coffee in hand, and Detective Reed watching them from behind the glass wall with a matching cup. 

The lieutenant sighed. Connor didn’t move a muscle. His eyes flicked down to the coin, then back up to the lieutenant, who just shook his head slowly and glanced over at Detective Reed. The detective made a light shrugging motion with his hands as if to say _I don’t fucking know, man, it’s up to you_. 

Connor readjusted himself to sit stock still against the wall. Feet straight, hands interlocked in his lap, eyes on Lieutenant Anderson, who just sighed _again_ and ran a hand through his hair with a quiet, “Oh, God…” 

In the end, it was Connor who spoke first. “Um… sir? I- If I may ask-” 

“We’re going to keep you overnight, kid. Sorry, but questioning you will be much easier once we’ve all gotten some sleep.”

Okay. Question answered. Got it. Great.

How the hell is Connor going to explain his way out of this one?

“For now, we should really contact your parents. Would you mind sharing your last name with us, Connor?” The lieutenant pulled a small notepad out of his back pocket along with a pen. “We just want to let them know that their kid isn’t dead, okay?”

Connor gulped. He looked down to the coin again, and thought _I should really grab that_. He glanced over at Detective Reed as if he held the secret code to not telling them his name while also getting them to let him go home for the night without contacting Todd or Victoria.

He didn’t. Obviously. Connor looked around the room, desperate to avoid answering the question entirely. Who knows what his foster parents would do if they found out he got caught? _Not something good_ , Connor thought. _Definitely not_.

The Lieutenant cleared his throat before continuing. “C’mon, kid. Let’s make this easier for both of us. ‘Sides, I’m tired as shit, and would love to get us both the hell out of here, and I can’t do that until I talk to your parents. You _are_ underaged, right?”

Connor’s eyes snapped up to meet the lieutenant’s. He said nothing.

Lieutenant Anderson waved his hand up in a _fuck it, we’re getting nowhere with this_ kind of gesture, put the notebook back into his pocket, and moved to leave the room. 

“Williams. My name is Connor Williams.”

The lieutenant turned, his hand poised above the hand scanner. There was a brief moment of silence as he just looked at Connor, who just kept staring forward. A beat longer than the usual amount of quiet later, Lieutenant Anderson replied. After all, it was the polite thing to do.

“Thanks, kid.”

He left and closed the door to the holding cell, Detective Reed following him out of Connor’s line of sight. 

No one else visited Connor that night, except for Detective Reed, when he wordlessly dropped off a small pillow and blanket. Their eyes met for a second, and although Connor could see the hardness in him, something else swam in his gray eyes. Connor first thought it was anger, but after the detective had left, and after Connor grabbed his coin off the floor, he realized that it was pity.

\-----

Connor, predictably, didn’t sleep well. After all, the cot was literally nothing more than a concrete white bench with a blanket on it, and the lights didn’t turn off, so there was that. He was exhausted.

He got up and moved to splash his face with some water. It didn’t really help, but at least he was up now. Sitting down on the bed turned bench, he looked past the glass wall of the cell to see that the station was still dark from last night. There were maybe one or two officers that Connor didn’t recognize still working, but for the most part, Connor was alone. _It must still be pretty early_ , Connor thought.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his coin again. He really wished he had his music to listen to so he could pass the time a little faster, but fiddling with his coin would just have to do. After passing it back and forth between his hands for a few minutes, he flicked it into the air right as the door opened. Connor whipped his head towards the door, finding, surprisingly, Detective Reed. The coin fell to the floor with a _clink_ and Connor immediately thought _Oh, God, this is where I die_. 

It wasn’t, to Connor’s astonishment, and as the detective closed the door behind him, he spoke with a little less bite he had when asking for his name last night. With a little kick in his voice, “Hey kid, sleep well?” He didn’t let Connor answer before moving on to the bulk of the conversation. “We weren’t able to get in contact with your parents last night, mostly because we couldn’t _find_ a _Connor Williams_. Any idea why that happened, kid?”

Connor gulped. Stared. Blinked. 

Detective Reed apparently wasn’t having a great morning, because he rolled his eyes and closed the gap between himself and Connor. Squatting to his level, he got very serious, then said, “Look. We can do this the _easy_ way, or _my_ way. Your choice.”

After a beat of silence, the detective stood and spoke first. “Look, you don’t actually have to-”

“I’m a foster kid.” Connor blurted. “You can look me up that way. My actual last name is Riley. My foster parents are Todd and Victoria Williams.” He then rattled off his address, his home phone number, and as Detective Reed struggled to pull out his phone to take notes on, Connor just kept spilling information he promised himself last night he wouldn’t share under any circumstances. His caseworker’s name, Amanda Stern, his age, 17, his grade, 12th, and, right before he was out of breath, “I’m sorry about the drugs. They aren’t mine, I was just dropping them off. I swear, I don’t deal or do drugs. I’m sorry.”

They sat in quiet as the detective typed everything out on his phone, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was Connor’s loud breathing and the light taps of the detective’s note-taking. A few seconds after the tapping had stopped, Connor whispered, “I’m sorry,” one more time, for good measure, then put his head down. 

Connor didn’t hear anything except for the shuffling of clothes and heavy footsteps before the door to the cell opened again, and when he looked up, the detective was gone.


	3. Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor eats a bagel. He goes home. He doesn't stay there very long.
> 
> (You might think you've seen this chapter before, and you're right. I rewrote it. I think it's better now. There's more content, and there is some actual, literal, heavy handed abuse and language in this chapter, so, um, sorry about that.)

It was a while before anyone came back for Connor, and when someone did, it wasn’t Detective Reed. It was Lieutenant Anderson, and he was holding a plain bagel. 

“Here,” he said bluntly, as he held it out to Connor. “I promise it’s not poisoned,” he added, after seeing Connor’s hesitation. The lieutenant crossed his arms and shifted awkwardly as Connor took a bite, and then another. The lieutenant leaned against the concrete wall opposite of Connor as he ate, trying to act as casual as possible. 

Once Connor finished the bagel, he looked up at the lieutenant, who addressed the elephant in the room with a simple “Gavin finally got through with your parents, which means that they’ll be here soon to pick you up.” He paused, moved closer, and took a knee to get down to Connor’s height on the bench. He took out his notepad from earlier. “Look, all we want is some information, Connor. We know you’re not a bad kid, but how did you get that red ice? That’s all we really want to know.”

Connor knew he couldn’t tell him that. If Todd ever found out he told the police, and he most definitely would, because, well, it’s the _police_ , Connor would _wish_ he were dead. 

On the other hand, if he told the lieutenant that Todd was behind all this, what are the chances that he even believes him? Lieutenant Anderson had little to no reason to trust Connor, and he could get into even more trouble if he thought Connor was lying. 

He knew he should have stayed home last night.

Before Connor could decide on one of his (very bad, no good, absolutely _terrible_ ) options, the lieutenant stood and said, “If you want to talk to us, just drop by the station. We’d really like to have you back and, uh, not behind bars.”

Connor looked over at the glass partition that separated him and the lieutenant from the rest of the station. He shrugged. “Figure of speech, kid.”

“Anyways,” he continued, “Your folks will be here soon. Either Gavin or I will be back for you when they are.” And with that, he left the cell, door sliding shut silently behind him, leaving Connor alone once again.

\-----

As it turned out, his foster parents would take another two hours to arrive, but it felt more like years. In the meantime, Connor stood, washed his face another three times, made and remade the bench-bed hybrid twice, and started and stopped fidgeting with his coin around seven times. He was about to make it eight when Detective Reed, shadowed by a watchful and pensive Lieutenant Anderson, opened his cell and guided him out. Connor was just grateful that he didn’t drop the coin again when they showed up.

He was led into the lobby, which had turned a bright yellow with the morning sun. Victoria and Shaolin were waiting for him, and Victoria jumped up to engulf him in a bear hug with a fake-happy “Oh, Connor!” while Shaolin stayed on the plastic chair. He shrugged when Connor looked at him for help.

Victoria quickly let go of him after she realized that Connor wasn’t returning the hug. She turned to the detective and lieutenant, thanking them for their time and apologizing for Connor’s _behavior_. She promised that she would _make sure this never happens again_ , and that _you’ll never see Connor back here, right Connor?_ He nodded his head when she glared at him, as if to say _you are **so dead** when we get home_. 

She then starting blabbing on about the recent snowstorm, and how she would _never let her child go out in the aftermath of something like that_ , or something along those lines. Detective Reed looked annoyed by her antics, but maybe that was just his face. The lieutenant, on the other hand, looked bored, but kept up an interested appearance for her sake. When she finally stopped, he spoke up and said, “Just get him home safely, Mrs. Williams. That’s all that matters right now. Have a wonderful day.” 

Victoria thanked him, and with that, they left the Detroit Police Department and rode home in silence. Everytime Connor looked over at Victoria, however, she was sneaking glances at him as she watched the road. She always seemed like she had something to say, and her eyes shone with a quiet sort of angry. Connor didn’t think much of it, though.

Once they were back home, Shaolin was asked to do the dishes, and Connor was ordered to do the laundry, as per usual. Daniel was still scrubbing that red stain on the floor, and when Connor gave him a weird look (just like yesterday), he just shrugged.

\-----

Later that evening, after he had finished everything else Victoria told him to do, Connor was sitting on the floor in the bathroom, folding some towels. He could hear the loud voices of Todd and Victoria from the kitchen; they were fighting again. Were they fighting over Connor’s arrest? He tried to finish folding as soon as possible, but as he fumbled through the last towel, the bathroom door crept open. 

It was Shaolin. “Connor,” he started, hushed, “Todd wants to talk to you.” Connor nodded, finished folding, and stood. 

“How bad is it?” he asked. 

“Watch what you say. He’s not happy, I’ll tell you that.”

Ok. Okay. O-kay. _This is not going to go well_ , he thought. Shaolin looked at him, concerned.

“Look,” Connor whispered, “It’s ok. Nothing’s going to happen. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that. You know how he gets-”

“Listen. If something _does_ happen, which it _won’t_ , I can handle it. I have before, I will again.” Shaolin didn’t look convinced. He didn’t need to be. Connor gave him a look that he _hoped_ conveyed that he’ll be ok and that there’s no need to worry before leaving the bathroom and heading towards the dining room.

\-----

Both Todd and Victoria were already seated when Connor walked in. “You wanted to talk to me?” he asked, barely managing not to stutter. 

“Connor,” Todd stated, voice low. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was slightly pinker than it should be. _He’s high! How did he go to work like that? **Wait**. Did he even **go** to work?_ “Can you tell us why we got a call at 8 this morning telling us that you were at the police station?” He was remarkably calm for someone who should (and would, in the past) be yelling and screaming at him already.

Connor chewed his lip. His hands itched for the coin in his front pocket. He stayed silent as Victoria crooned, “Connor, _sweetie_ , please. We just want to know what happened.” She spoke softly, _sweetly_ , almost as if she was on his side. 

He took a breath, then said, “Um, well, I messed up with the, uh, bag, a little bit. You see-”

“Messed up?” Todd asked coarsely. 

“Well, yes, um, I- I mistook some police officers for the buyers, but-”

“You… _mistook_ ,” Victoria started, “the _police_ for the _buyers_?” 

“Well, they didn’t really have any defining characteristics. I mean, their clothes _kinda_ looked like the kinds, um, those people would wear,” Connor blurted, “and I couldn't really see their faces or their badges, and I had already been waiting for them to come for about half an hour, and it was cold out, and- and-” he slowed to a stop when he noticed both Todd and Victoria glaring daggers at him. Todd spoke first.

“Connor,” he began, in that same low, calm, dangerous, _a storm’s brewing_ , kind of voice, “do you realize what you’ve done?” 

Connor didn’t, so he shook his head. 

“You’ve killed the only chance this household had of getting a decent fucking income. _And to think we were right there_.”

 _What?_

“What?”

Victoria stepped in. “We were going to move to Canada with that money, Connor. That, and the money we’ve saved up from having you, Shaolin, and Daniel here. Todd hasn’t had a job in a long while, Connor. He was busted using at work, so, I thought of a plan. Red ice brought us into this mess, and red ice would get us out.”

Connor frantically looked over to her. “No- no way. This can’t be for real.” 

Ignoring him entirely, she continued, “ He was supposed to sell it that night, and if he didn’t fucking use some earlier,” a pointed look at Todd here, “we wouldn’t have had any problems. We’re stuck here because of you, Connor. This is all your fault, and I won’t stand to have you here any longer. This is the last straw.” 

_**What?** _

“You’re, what, kicking me out? You, you can’t do that! Amanda-”

“Who the hell _cares_ what fucking _Amanda_ thinks! “Todd roared, finally breaking his calm, slapping his hand down _hard_ on the table. “You have two hours, _bud_. Pack your _shit_ and _leave_.” 

“You can’t just- I, hold on, you-” he was interrupted by Todd storming over to him, picking him up with one arm, and slamming him against the wall by the throat.

Victoria stepped back with an astounded “ _Todd!_ ” Connor made a choking noise, gripped his arm, and tried to hold on for dear life, fighting for air.

Todd bellowed, “It took me _months_ to get that shit, Connor! You have _no fucking idea_ how hard it is in this area to even _find_ the right people to _buy_ from!”

Connor wheezed, “It wasn’t- I, I couldn’t have _known_! Can’t you, see-”

“You _should have known_!” He slammed his other hand right next to Connor’s head, who flinched hard to try and get away. Victoria continued to protest from the sidelines. “They were the fucking _police_! How hard it is to not sell drugs to the _police_? Or are you so goddamn _useless_ that you can’t even do that? It’s not that hard!”

“Todd,” Connor choked out, “I- you- can’t-” he tried, but Todd slammed his fist into Connor’s face before he could say anything more. He dropped him like a sack of week-old potatoes. Victoria just stood there, hand over her mouth.

“You have an hour. Get the _hell_ out of my house, and I _might_ not beat you into a bloody pulp for still being here.” 

Connor’s hand found its way to his face like it was second nature, cradling the soon-to-be bruise. He looked up into Todd’s eyes one more time; warm, tearful, chocolate brown met cold, angry, icy, and bloodshot blue, then he got out of Todd’s way.

\-----

Connor found himself sitting on a (slightly damp) park bench nearly half an hour later. He had a slightly torn, slightly over-packed drawstring bag (filled with the essentials) sitting next to him, and a small pillow in his lap. He gripped his almost dead phone ( _had he remembered the charger?_ ) in one hand and held his cheek the other. It still hurt.

He stared out over the water at a bridge he hadn’t bothered learning the name of. The wind picked up and blew some snow right into his face. Wiping it off, he asked himself, _What now? What are you even supposed to **do** when something like this happens?_

He glanced down at the time. Somehow, it was nearing 1am. He dropped his hand from his face to try and call Amanda, to tell her that this family didn’t want him anymore, but it died before he could even open the app. He sighed. _Seriously?_

Shaking his head, he stuffed the dumb piece of crap into his bag and tried to actually think of what he could do next.

His first thought was to head towards the fostering agency, but quickly disregarded the idea in favor of _not_ walking 15 miles in the snow at midnight. 

The school? No, no. It’s winter break. No one would be there, not even the teachers.

Okay. Connor needs to call Amanda, but his phone is dead. Where can he go (that isn’t a place where he isn’t wanted) so he can do that?

He couldn’t just... go to the police station, could he? After all, Lieutenant Anderson did say that they would welcome him back. And don’t they have phones there? 

Wait, does Connor even know how to get to the police department? He should remember, in some right, but the way Victoria was looking at him had him distracted the whole ride home that morning. 

_It doesn’t matter_ , thought Connor, _I’m sure I’ll remember if I start walking. It shouldn’t be very far from here, right?_

And with that, he clapped his hands together, rubbed his cheek again, and stood, grabbing his pillow and bag as he did. Before he left the park, he walked up to the guard rail and looked out over the water again towards the bridge. Letting the snow gather on his hair, he took a deep breath, turned, and started moving. 

As he walked to the exit, he took his coin out of his pocket and flipped it a few times for good luck. 

_This **should** be easy_, he thought.

_Right?_


	4. Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor goes for a walk. He finds someone. He goes to the station, and some good things happen to him for once.

The snow had turned harsh in the time it took for Connor to get to Larned Boulevard. The wind howled, and Connor squinted his eyes through the snow to look down the street. Although he could see a couple of cars, they looked to be abandoned - either that, or some people were just staying out _really_ late. He itched to check the time, but when he tried to turn on his phone, it would only show a red blinking battery symbol. Right. It was dead.

Using one hand to block the snow from flying into his eyes, he pushed on. He had to get to the police station. In a darkened store window on his right, Connor noticed the reflection of a slow moving car turning onto Larned Bvld. He tried to ignore it, pressing on through the building snow pile that used to be the sidewalk. His face still hurt. 

The car had caught up behind Connor, and by looking into another dark window, Connor recognized it as one of the Detroit Police Department’s patrol cars! With luck, it would be the Lieutenant, and Connor could tell him everything, and they could go to the station, and Connor could call Amanda, and everything would be okay. 

Before Connor could turn around, the patrol car turned on it’s lights and siren, startling Connor into turning too quickly. He whipped around, and the movement made him step backwards and slip on a particularly cruel patch of ice. Falling hard, his bag thudded onto the ground, tearing open, his clothes spilling out.

Just as quick as they had turned on, the lights and siren switched off, and none other than Detective Reed jumped out of the car. “Oh, God, are you okay?” He shouted over the storm. “I swear, I didn’t mean for that to happen!” 

Of course. Of course it would be Detective Reed. Who else would it be? Connor rubbed the back of his head with one hand and checked out the damage on his bag with the other, squinting past the snow. He tried to put his things back into the bag, but the nylon had torn right down the middle, completely severing the cheap thing into two ugly halves. Connor tried to collect his things anyways. 

Taking note of the torn bag, the detective grabbed something from his car, rushed around the vehicle, and kneeled near Connor. “Here,” he said, presenting a dark-colored (and thankfully empty) duffle bag. “Sorry about that.” He helped Connor stuff his, well, _stuff_ , into it.

Once everything was in, Detective Reed stood and helped Connor to his feet. “C’mon," he said over the storm, "this weather sucks. Get in. I’ll take you to the station.”

\-----

In the car, Connor sunk into the heated seat. Just for a minute, he relaxed, the warmth distracting him from the howling of the blizzard outside and the strange looks from the detective in the driver’s seat. Connor suddenly remembered his phone, and took it out of his back pocket to check if it survived his fall. One glance at the slightly-more-cracked-than-usual screen and Connor frowned. _How can this night get any worse?_

The detective put the car into drive and, mindful of the patches of black ice on the road, started towards the station. “So,” he began eloquently. “What were you going out there, kid? Not that taking a stroll in the middle of a blizzard with a massive bruise on your face isn’t normal, but, it's not. Why the hell were you out there?” He gave him a pointed look as Connor fiddled with the sunshade. He flipped it down to look in the mirror on the other side, where he could see that the slightly bloody bruise was already turning an ugly purple. “Well?” he asked, when Connor didn’t answer.

“I, uh, wasn’t going to sell anything!” He put his hand down, flipped the mirror back up, and stared out the front window at the storm, “Um, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He looked over at Detective Reed with a fire in his eyes. “You saw everything in my bag, didn’t you? I don’t have anything on me. Not red ice, not even cigarettes! I told you before, I don’t do that kind of stuff, and even if I did-”

“Woah, geez, kid,” the detective cut him off mid-rant, “I never said anything about red ice. I just wanted to know what has you out here at a quarter to two in the morning, that’s all.” 

“It’s 1:45?” Connor said a lot louder than he meant to. Checking the car’s built-in clock, it was, indeed, nearly two in in the morning. _Wow. I was walking for a lot longer than I thought I was._

“I, uh,” Connor started. He felt the bruise on his cheek. “I, um, gotintoafightathomeandgotkickedout.” He spoke too quickly to be understood, or at least he tried to.

Detective Reed looked down at the borrowed duffle bag at Connor’s feet, and Connor really hoped he didn’t put two and two together and realize that almost everything Connor owned was in it. He gave a concerned glance at the kid, then said, “We’ll talk more about this at the station, ok? Anderson handles kids better anyways.”

\-----

The Detroit Police 7th Precinct lobby was surprisingly cold. Although it was warm when Connor and Detective Reed first walked in a few minutes ago, Connor noticed that the heat wasn’t turned on even though the blizzard was still raging outside. 

Bypassing reception entirely, the detective rounded a corner to clear a small pile of papers off a desk that could only belong to Detective Reed. Connor was surprised it wasn’t further back in the office area, and that it was actually quite tidy. He sat in his chair, and as Connor set his bag down next to an empty trash can, the detective pulled out his phone and started to type furiously. 

Standing next to the bag, Connor bit the inside of his (unhurt) cheek as the detective glanced over at him, looked straight at his face, then turned back to his phone. Connor swallowed, then awkwardly averted his gaze when the detective looked up at him a second time. He sniffled. 

Looking around the empty office space, his eyes caught on a desk across the room. A damp, dark brown, leather jacket was strewn haphazardly across a messy collection of (what Connor could only assume were) important papers pertaining to different cases the owner of the desk were assigned to. Even standing next to Detective Reed’s desk, Connor could tell that the accompanying whiteboard was covered in notes and stickers of all kinds. He couldn’t read them from where he was standing, and he wanted to get closer just to satisfy his curiosity. He didn't. An empty chair sat behind the desk, and another different style of chair stood in front of it, right next to a computer that matched the one that was on the detective’s desk. If Connor knew _anything_ about Lieutenant Anderson, this desk was his.

Behind him, Detective Reed cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, Connor, “ he said, as he turned back to face him. The detective gestured to his phone. “Hank says that he’ll be here shortly, he was just checking on his dog because of the storm. You, uh, gonna be okay until he gets here?” 

Connor didn’t really understand _why_ the detective was asking. Of course he’ll be okay, but why wait until Lieutenant Anderson gets to the station to question Connor further? Instead of just asking the detective this like a normal person would, he just nodded his head and tried not to think about it. Realizing that he still needed to call Amanda, he asked, “Detective, uh, may I use your phone? I- I need to call my caseworker.” 

“Oh! Oh, right, yeah, here,” he said, fumbling to unlock his phone and handing it to him. Connor dialed in Amanda’s home number and turned away from the detective. A part of Connor hoped that she would be awake, that she would pick him up and take him back to the fostering agency, that Connor could just explain everything and she would just listen as she used to when he was younger. Another darker part of him hoped that it would go to voicemail and Connor could avoid the subject altogether, even if just for now. Either way, with the phone ringing in his ear, he knew he couldn't back out now.

He took a shaky breath as it rang for a third time, looked over at the lieutenant's messy desk and the damp jacket, and tried to put on a cheery disposition as Amanda picked up on the fourth ring. “Hi, Miss Amanda!” he began. “Um, there’s been a bit of, uh, an _issue_ with the Williams, and they, uh- “

“Connor,” she interrupted, voice as smooth and as _cold_ as ice, “you realize that it’s 2:30 in the morning, correct?” _Oh no._

“Well, yes, of course I do, but I, uh, called as soon as I could, Miss Amanda, you see my phone-”

“Connor,” she reprimanded again, “you _also_ realize that the William’s have already contacted me, correct?” At Connor’s stunned silence, she continued, “Apparently not. Well, Mrs. William’s called me around eleven this evening and told me that they would like to end their contract with the agency _and_ with you. I told them that I would not be able to come and get you tonight, because of the weather, _and_ I’m all booked through until Saturday. With Christmas on Tuesday, I told her that it would be better for you to stay with them until I can pick you up around three on Saturday.” _She, wait, what? But I’m not-_

“B- but, “ Connor stuttered. 

She cut him off _again_ with, “I’m sure you can survive until Saturday. I’m only doing what’s best for you, Connor, and unfortunately that’s waiting until Saturday to take you out of their home as per their request. Do you understand?” 

Connor stared straight ahead, looking at nothing. “Yes, ma’am, I understand.”

“You will be sure to stay with the William’s until then, correct?” 

“Yes, Miss Amanda, I will.” 

“Don’t cause any trouble between then and now, Connor. I’m counting on you.” The line went dead, but Connor kept the phone by his ear, unmoving.

“Hey, kid,” Detective Reed called out, who Connor only just now remembered was still there. He rolled the chair back and into the walking space of the office area just enough to see a single tear fall from Connor’s face, eyes still shielded by the phone and his hand. “Woah, hey, Connor, you okay?” he asked gently. 

Connor’s breath hitched against his will as he lowered the phone and held it out in Detective Reed’s general direction. “Sorry,” he said in lieu of a response, moving his arm up to his eyes to ~~hide~~ wipe away more tears. “Sorry.” 

“No, uh, it’s okay, Connor. Whatever’s going on right now, um, oh hey! Look, Hank’s back!” 

Connor kept his eyes down, sat down on the station’s cold floor, and tried to control his breathing as the two officers shared a silent conversation of loud gesturing. It seemed to come to an end when the lieutenant knelt down in front of him. He just sat there as Connor curled in on himself, hugging his knees close to his body. “Sorry, sorry,” Connor whimpered, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, kid,” the lieutenant replied softly, “you’re going to be okay.” He reached a hand out, and waited for a response from Connor before gently setting it down on his shoulder. When he didn’t reject the touch outright, the lieutenant said, “You’re not okay right now, and that’s okay. Things _will_ get better, I promise.” 

At that, Connor flung himself at Lieutenant Anderson, hugging him like a drowning man would cling to a lifebuoy, and sobbed. The lieutenant awkwardly patted his back and closed the hug, and although Connor was mildly concerned about ruining the man’s shirt and hugging him for too long, they didn’t part until long after Detective Reed left them to grab a cup of coffee.

\-----

Connor sat in the chair next to what he correctly assumed earlier was the lieutenant’s desk. Though still messy, he looked passed the piles of paper at the lieutenant and detective, the latter of which had parked himself in the empty desk across from the lieutenant’s. The borrowed duffle bag sat innocently on Connor's lap, as if it _didn’t_ hold everything he owned. 

The lieutenant slumped into his own chair, moved a couple of files off of his keyboard, and pulled out the small notepad from last night. He spun to his right and grabbed a pen before turning to look directly at Connor. “So,” he started, blue eyes not meeting brown ones. _He’s looking at the bruise, isn’t he_ , Connor thought. _You know what? I bet that’s exactly what he’s going to ask about next._

At Hank’s “Where’d you get that bruise?”, Connor lightly snorted. _Ha. Saw that one coming._ “I know Gavin asked you about it on the way here, but you didn’t exactly give him an answer.”

What’s Connor’s next move here? What does he do? His mind was screaming at him to _avoid avoid avoid_ the question ( _wait, why?_ ), so instead, he said, “I got the red ice from my foster parents.” At the officers' slight confusion, Connor provided, “F- Friday night? When I was arrested? I was told to find some people, give them the bag, and take what payment they gave me home to them. I swear, I wasn’t doing it out of my own will.” 

“Why didn’t you just say no?” Detective Reed asked, not wasting anytime. 

“Uh, I- I don’t, no, um, that’s not how it _works_ , uh, Detective Reed, I would have been-” he cut himself off with a hand over his mouth. 

The lieutenant looked at him, concerned. Worried. When he spoke up, he did so tentatively. “Is that why you’re here now, with a massive bruise on your face, Connor?” 

“N- not exactly? Um, I told Detective Reed that, uh,” his tone changed considerably, quiet as a mouse, “I got into a fight at home with my parents and got kicked out, but it was my fault! I think. I, uh I got caught with the red ice, and Lieutenant Anderson, they _really_ didn't like that. Todd, um, punched me in the face, but I’m fine! I’m fine, and I will keep _being_ fine, so it’s okay!” _It’s okay._

Lieutenant Anderson looked over at Detective Reed. What he was looking for, guidance, assistance, whatever, Connor couldn’t tell. A beat, then Detective Reed said, “Connor, you realize that almost everything you’ve just said about your parents activities are illegal, right?”

“What? Uh, I- um,” 

“That’s _child abuse_ , for one, drug possession, trafficking, dealing, not to mention a CDM charge-”

“CDM?”

“Contributing to the Delinquency of a Minor.”

“Oh.”

“Look, if everything you’re telling us is true, you need to be taken out of that home immediately. It’s not safe for you there.”

“Well it’s not like I have anywhere else to go!” Connor shouted, turning his voice all the way up to eleven. “Amanda won’t be here until Saturday, and even then they _kicked me out_! They don’t want me there, and Amanda said that they even called the agency and _officially_ got me out of their lives.” Angry tears slipped down his cheek, and when Connor went to swipe them off of his face, he hissed slightly when he accidently brushed the bruise. “Look, you don’t have to- to do anything; nothing will change. They’ve been getting away with this for _years_ , even before they took me into their care. It’s not like _one_ foster kid can change that.”

It got quiet. Connor cupped his hands over his eyes, carefully, and placed his elbows on his knees, his feet supporting him on one of the metal legs of the chair. He tried his best to stop crying; the two officers had already seen him cry once tonight, and once was enough. 

Someone turned his chair away from the desk, and at the movement, Connor looked up. Lieutenant Anderson knelt before him, blue eyes shining with kindness. _Or maybe it’s pity._ Connor’s stomach rolled with anxiety. 

“Connor, if you really don’t have anywhere to stay, I have a spare couch and some blankets at home. If you’d like, it’s open for you. We can figure everything out in the morning _tomorrow_ , and you can get some sleep. What do you say, kid?”

For the second time tonight Connor leapt forward and hugged the Lieutenant, pushing his chair back and abandoning it behind him, tears blurring his view into a messy blue and grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, this chapter was really hard to write for some reason. I think it's longer than usual, so hopefully that makes up for it? Anyways, it's here now, and I hope to upload something on the 25th for Christmas as a little gift to you guys, so look out for that. 
> 
> Thank you for all your support. I love you all! <3


	5. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Lieutenant Anderson go home. He finally starts getting to know Hank on a first name basis. Time is an illusion. They go shopping.
> 
> haha pranked, early chapter for you. <3  
> also i'm sorry for the memes in this chapter.  
> also also this is the longest chapter i've ever written for anything (it's 10 pages long in my google doc, which is literally a 1/3 of what i have for this fanfic), so...  
> merry christmas? happy holidays? idk anymore

The lieutenant’s car was just as warm, if not warmer, than the squad car Detective Reed picked him up in earlier this evening. _Morning? Whatever._ As they drove along the (thankfully mostly clear) freeway towards the lieutenant’s home, Connor tried to relax. It was quiet except for the sounds of the blizzard whipping past outside and the rumble and roar of the engine. Connor itched to fiddle with his coin, but refused the temptation for the lieutenant’s sake. He knew his little habit could be really annoying to deal with, and he wanted to stay on the lieutenant's good side.

Every so often, Lieutenant Anderson would look over at Connor, then down to the clock to check the time, then adjust the temperature ever so slightly. After a few temperature changes, he suddenly said, “What music do you listen to?”

“Uh,” Connor said, with all the confidence of a drowned rat.

“Ya like jazz? Or…”

Snorting, Connor fumbled out, “Uh, yeah, um, I like jazz. Um, I’m really into this one band called Knights of the Black Death though. T- they’re pretty old, so-”

“Wait, seriously? They’re _my_ favorite band.”

“What! No way! That’s awesome!” 

“Yeah, I’ve got their greatest hits right here,” Lieutenant Anderson said, reaching for the radio and turning on one of their best songs. He turned the volume nearly all the way up and grinned.

As the loud heavy metal music filled the car and threatened to burst their eardrums, Connor laughed, and the two sped off towards home.

\-----

Stopping the car and opening his door, Hank laughed as the music cut out right before a swear word. “Ha. Well timed censorship,” he chuckled, locking the car once Connor grabbed his bag and closed the door. He walked up to his door, keys jingling, Connor following behind him, and opened it, using his leg as a sort of barrier when a very large dog came bounding and ‘boof’ing at the supposed intruder. 

“Hey! Sumo, down. Sumo, get down,” he commanded in a stern voice. Once ‘Sumo’ backed away, the lieutenant stepped inside. “Well, come on in, Connor. Stop lettin’ in all the cold. I want you to meet my dog, Sumo.”

At his name, Sumo boofed again, nosing Connor’s shoes as he stepped inside and closed the door. Connor dropped his bag (and himself) and immediately began petting Sumo. “What breed is he?” he asked, completely absorbed in giving Sumo all the love he deserves. 

“He’s a Saint Bernard. 100% loveable floof if you ask me. A terrible guard dog, though,” the lieutenant gave a soft smile at the two. “Well, uh, you hungry?” he asked, changing the topic.

Tearing himself away from Sumo, Connor said, “Actually, not really. Um, I am kinda thirsty, though.”

“Here, I’ll get you some water.” He moved past a large couch and into a small kitchenette with a round dining table. A pair of nearly empty dog food and water bowls sat near a chair shoved haphazardly against the wall. A picture frame, picture side down, rested on the table. 

As the lieutenant searched for a clean glass, Connor picked up the water bowl and refilled it at the sink. At the sound of water hitting metal, Lieutenant Anderson looked over at Connor, laughed, and said, “You don’t have to do that you know.” 

“I just thought that Sumo might want some fresh water. That’s all, lieutenant.”

Handing him the glass and taking the bowl from him, the lieutenant said, “You know, you don’t have to call me that. Just Hank’s fine.”

Connor filled his glass and said, “Are you sure? Because I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do. It feels weird.” He set the bowl down, and Sumo bounded over to lap some water up noisily. 

Connor took a sip of his own water. “Ok.” He tested out the name. “Hank. It’s nice to officially meet you. I’m Connor.”

Hank laughed. “Hi Connor. It’s nice to meet you too.” Sumo boofed from his water bowl, putting in his two cents and getting water everywhere. “Aw, Sumo,” Hank admonished, dragging out the 'o'. “Aw well, I’ll clean that up later.” He looked over at an old analog clock hanging on the wall, and sighed, “It’s late, Connor. Or, early, rather. You should get to sleep, son.”

Leaving the kitchen, Connor followed Hank into a hallway, where he opened a side closet and pulled out a few blankets. “Here,” he said, dropping them into Connor’s arms, “I, uh, don’t have an extra bed you can use, but the couch is open, so…”

Connor shrugged the blankets into a better position in his arms. “Thanks, Hank. Um, goodnight?” 

“Yeah, no problem, kid. Just get some sleep, huh? Goodnight,” he said fondly, turned around, and disappeared behind a door to Connor’s left. Connor in turn walked to the living room, dragged his bag over, made himself a bed on the couch, and went to sleep, not even bothering to change into his pajamas. 

\-----

Connor woke up with a start, breathing heavily and hair askew. Hearing a noise, he whipped his head towards the door, but he saw nothing. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down, and from the corner of the living room, Sumo raised his head and boofed softly, startling Connor. “Sorry, Sumo,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Connor untangled himself from his self-made prison of blankets and stood, thinking of the time. From the darkness outside, he assumed it was still nighttime, or early morning, but felt the need to check for the exact time. Rummaging around in his bag, he found his phone, but remembering it was dead from last night, he searched for the charger. Opening every pocket the (borrowed) duffle bag had and unturning every metaphorical stone, Connor eventually gave up. _Darn it,_ he thought, _turns out I **didn’t** remember to pack it._ He frowned, then abandoned the phone in the bag. Stepping over a ruffled blanket that apparently made it to the floor as Connor slept, he made his way to the kitchen to check the analog clock in there. 

Definitely _not_ tripping over a rumpled rug on the way, Connor fumbled for his coin. As he stuffed his hands into his front pockets, he looked up at the clock, which read a disappointing 7am. Connor had hardly slept for more than three hours. Even more upsetting, however, was the absence of the quarter from Connor’s pockets. 

Furrowing his brow, he checked his back pockets one by one - nothing. Not even pocket lint. He paced back to the couch where he again checked the duffle. Every pocket in every pair of pants, which, admittedly, were only two pairs, resulted in nothing. Not even a slip of paper to throw away. 

_You’ve got to be kidding me,_ Connor thought, as he checked the couch just in case. While he did find a quarter, it was minted in 2034, and definitely wasn’t Connor’s coin. 

_Come on, come on,_ he thought, minted in 1994, standard U.S. quarter. I’ve had it since 2025, and I won’t lose it now. 

_Ok. I won’t find it searching like this._ He stood, picked up the fallen blanket, and remade the makeshift bed. _I’ll get some more sleep, look for it once I’m well rested and thinking properly, and everything will be okay._

He rummaged through his bag a third time and took a blue shirt and green pair of shorts to what he guessed was the restroom. (Luckily) choosing correctly, he changed into the clothes and returned to the couch. He took the time to carefully fold the dirty clothing, and the rest of his items, before returning them to the duffle. Connor hoped that he could ask Hank later if he could use the laundry room. He didn’t want the borrowed bag from Detective Reed getting dirty because of his stuff. 

Trying to not think about the lost coin, Connor got back on the couch and tried to get back to sleep. With only a little help from (totally not) overthinking every action since last Thursday, he was asleep before the sun rose just minutes later.

\-----

The sound of claws clicking on tile startled Connor awake. The sun shone right into his eyes, and, using one hand to block it out, Connor tossed the blankets off of him and turned to sit on the couch. Sumo, noticing the new addition to the land of the living, rounded the couch and plopped his head onto Connor’s lap, panting. Connor laughed softly, then gently placed his hand on the dog’s head and ruffled his fur. 

Connor carefully shifted Sumo off of his lap, then stood and began folding the blankets he used. He grabbed some clothes for the day, and as he was pulling them on in the restroom, he also pulled a comb through his hair to at least _try_ and make it presentable. He gently touched the bruise, still purple and still unsightly. He hoped it wasn’t _too_ noticeable.

“Connor?” Hank knocked on the door, which made Connor drop the comb with a plastic clatter. “You in there?” 

“Uh, um, yeah! Just, just changing. Um, don’t come in!” 

Hank didn’t say anything, but the sound of retreating footsteps told Connor that he walked away. He picked up the discarded comb and finished his hair, but a wayward strand still found its way down his forehead. He didn’t bother fixing it. 

Finishing up, Connor strolled into the kitchen, hand still unconsciously searching for his lost coin in his pocket. 

“Hey, kid,” Hank sat at the table, Sumo innocently snacking on something, probably a bone, next to him. Connor greeted him, then bent down to pet Sumo. “Hungry?”

“Oh, um, not really, I-”

“Come on, Connor, it’s noon. You’re hungry.”

“It’s noon?” _Wow. I slept for that long? Yikes,_ Connor thought. “I guess I am, then.”

“How does some sandwiches sound? Soup? I know a place. They’ve only got outdoor seating, but I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Hank shifted in his seat before standing to grab his keys off the counter. “I’ll pay.” 

Connor was taken back. “Um,” he stood, and Sumo whined at the loss of a hand on his head. “You, uh, don’t have to, you know, d-do all this.” He gestured in the general direction of the living room. “I mean, just letting me sleep on your couch is enough, lieutenant, er, Hank. There’s no need to, uh, take me to lunch, or, or let me stay-”

“Look,” Hank interrupted. He obviously didn’t like where Connor was taking the conversation. “I’m heading out for lunch anyways. You’re choice to come with, but the offer stands. Either grab a coat and follow me, or stay hungry.”

Connor looked confused. “That’s not much of a choice.”

“That’s the point. Now, you comin’ or not?” 

\-----

Several minutes later, Connor once again found himself sitting in the passenger seat of Hank’s car, the old vehicle idling noisily. He watched as Hank locked the front door and rush through the melting snow to jump in the driver’s seat. Hank took one look over at Connor and said, “Woah, you’re wearing that? It’s literally the middle of winter, in _Detroit_ no less.”

Connor looked down at his jacket, which, admittedly was a little thin, but it was all Connor had in terms of a coat. He had some low quality, but thankfully hole-less, gloves on, and a threadbare yellow scarf looped around his neck, and although they weren’t the best, they were his. “What do you mean? This is fine.” 

“Um, no. Not in this climate it’s not.” Hank turned around to look out the back window, preparing to back out of his driveway while Connor sat still and refused to look anywhere else but forward.

“Well, I don’t really have anything else, so-”

“You don’t have anything else?” Hank stopped right before someone sped down the street, and the car shook with the force of the sudden brake.

Connor immediately went on the defensive. “I didn’t really have a lot of time when I got kicked out, okay? Even then, we didn’t really have all that much.” 

The car was silent except for the piercing glare of a concerned police lieutenant. If looks could kill, Connor would have died years ago. This one instance of Hank looking concerned at Connor would have gone back in time and murdered Connor in his sleep in _2023_.

Hank turned back around to continue backing out his driveway and said, “You know what, we’ll talk about this _after_ lunch.”

\-----

After a grilled cheese and tomato soup for Connor, and a burger _way_ past the recommended daily intake of cholesterol for Hank, which Connor definitely _did not_ comment on, they were back in the car. Before Hank started the engine, he said, “Look, whether you like it or not, I’m taking you shopping. You need some clothes that are actually warm, and despite what you say, what you have on now is _not_ acceptable.” 

He started the engine and they drove off before Connor could make a reasonable argument against him.

\-----

The first thing Connor saw at they parked at the clothing mall was a very large, very over-the-top Christmas tree. Though Connor could tell it was green underneath the ornaments, garland, and lights, the sheer volume of the decorations covered it up almost entirely. As they left the car, Hank guided Connor past the large tree and into a side entrance of the mall.

_There sure are tons of shoppers here for a Sunday_ , Connor thought, _why so busy? It couldn’t be Christmas already, right?_ But as he looked around at the near frantic last minute shoppers, he could help but ask Hank, “Hey, when’s Christmas?” 

“What? Seriously? It’s the day after tomorrow, Connor.” Hank looked incredulous. “Surely you know that.” 

Connor laughed awkwardly to himself. “Oh, haha, yeah, of course. I was, uh, just trying to be f- funny, you know?” _Oh god what? How? I have to get Hank something!_ “Because there’s so many people here.” 

Hank glanced at Connor, a little confused, but pressed on through the crowd. Connor really wished he had his phone, and that it wasn’t dead. Or cracked. If he did, he would have known, and Hank wouldn’t be so weirded out right now. 

Awkwardness aside, they eventually got to the small section of the men portion of the store which, luckily, was comparatively empty to the rest of the mall. Connor absentmindedly looked at a few pairs of pants in his size, a couple of plain long sleeved shirts, and a small collection of fluffy, poofy, and totally not Connor’s style of winter coats. He picked out some pants, a shirt or two, and was trying to decide between a less expensive, much too poofy coat or a considerably priced, much better fitting coat, when he saw a flash of green out of the corner of his eye. 

Returning the two coats to the rack, Connor weaved through the clothes, Hank helplessly trailing behind him with a basket on his arm, until he found the _perfect sweatshirt_. It was forest green, soft on the inside and a little rough on the outside, and it had a tiny little white design of a tree on the breast. Plucking it off the rack, Connor examined it, turning it around and feeling the inside, but quickly shelving it when he took the smallest of glances at the price tag. 

Hank, noticing Connor’s strange behavior, asked casually, “Find something you like?” 

Not wanting to look like a total weirdo, and not wanting to draw attention to the near $70 (way, way, _way_ too expensive, there’s no way he’s asking Hank for _that_ ) sweatshirt, Connor stuttered, “Uh, um, n- not yet, Hank. I- I’ll keep looking for a coat, though.” 

Hank furrowed his brow, suspicious, but didn’t press the issue. Connor grabbed the nearest coat, poofy design and all, and they left for the accessories isle. They found Connor some warm gloves and a new dark blue scarf, and after suffering through checkout, they left the store as soon as humanly possible. 

\-----

The drive home was surprisingly not that awkward, and although Connor feels like he’s thinking the word _awkward_ too much, they arrived back at Hank’s house without any weird conversation topics popping up. 

Although it wasn’t very late, Hank insisted that Connor should get some more sleep. He makes up an excuse that even _Sumo_ could see through, something along the lines of _you're a growing boy, and you need your rest,_ but Connor just accepted it because he’s honestly kinda exhausted. Changing back into his pajama clothes and checking the bruise in the bathroom mirror again, he brushes his teeth and heads to the couch. 

As he remade his bed and climbed in, Connor listened to the sound of Hank clinking dishes together from the kitchen, and as they died down, Connor drifted off to sleep.

\-----

Hours later, Connor woke with a start. Just like last night, he’s breathing heavy, and as he ran his hand through his hair, he noticed that it’s messed up again. He looked down and found himself tied into a knot with the blankets on the couch, and once again, Sumo boofed from the corner. His heart thumped a mile a minute, and he jumped at the sound of Sumo standing up from his dog bed to readjust and lay back down. Connor gulped, then whispered, “Sorry, Sumo,” before freeing himself and tip-toeing off to the bathroom. 

On the way back, he took a detour to check the time in the kitchen, the old analog clock reading sometime between 10 and 11pm. Suddenly feeling very alone, Connor sneaked to the front window and looked for Hank’s car, which he found missing from its usual place in the driveway. 

Fight-flight response activating, Connor’s breathing quickened as he rushed to unlock the door and get a closer look, where he can clearly see that Hank’s car isn’t home, and, in a brilliant moment of word association and mental gear turning, he concluded that Hank isn’t home. 

Connor chewed on the inside of his cheek as he went back inside and locked the door. Taking a seat on the couch, Connor reminded himself that Hank is a lieutenant, and that he could have been called into work. Counting the seconds between each breath, he slowly tried to calm himself down as he stood back up and went to the kitchen again.

Stealing another glance at the clock, which had hardly moved since the last time Connor looked, he searched the table and countertops for a note, or maybe a message Hank could have left telling Connor that he was called in and would be back soon. He found no such thing, but he did notice that Hank’s badge was missing.

That alone was enough to tell Connor that everything is okay, and that he’s just freaking out over nothing. Instead of continuing to worry in the kitchen, he forced himself back to the couch, where he removed a couch cushion to reveal the quarter he found earlier, minted in 2034. Snatching it and replacing the cushion, Connor sat and tried to perform some coin tricks with it. It wasn’t the same, but it was enough to calm Connor down long enough for some time to pass. 

\-----

He didn’t get any sleep between then and a couple of hours later, when Hank walked through the door with a single bag on his arm. Connor jumped from the couch, coin securely clasped in his hand, and turned to the man, who looked far scarier in the dark. Hank flicked on the light, and through squinted eyes, he said, “Connor? What the hell are you doing up?”

Connor spoke fast and short. He didn’t stutter. “Couldn’t sleep. Where’d you go?”

Hank moved to hide the bag, and Connor pretended not to see it. It was… some case stuff, probably. Nothing Connor needed to worry about. He didn’t ask about it. “Can you, uh, leave a note? When you’re called into work next time?” he asked instead.

Though Hank looked a little confused for a second, understanding filled the man’s eyes as he noticed Connor's jumpy behavior and caught a glimpse of Connor’s tightly clenched hand around the 2034 minted quarter.

“I, um, I’m sorry, Connor. I’ll leave a note next time.” Hank set the bag behind the couch, not that Connor was looking or anything, and moved to hug him. Before he closed the gap, Hank hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure that hugging Connor was such as great idea right now, but before he could move away, Connor surged forward and flattened his head against Hank’s shoulder, arms wrapping around him like a snake. 

Hank, though a little surprised, completed the hug, and everything was okay for a while. When Connor pulled away slightly, Hank ended the hug by dropping his arms and backing away, a sad smile on his face. 

“Get some sleep, Connor. You, uh, you really need it. Goodnight.” Hank grabbed the bag, turned off the light, and disappeared into his room down the hall. Connor returned the goodnight, got back on the couch, and was asleep before Hank left his room again to prepare for bed in the bathroom.


	6. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor goes shopping. He experiences happiness for a little bit. He feels cold.

Connor woke up to Sumo trying (and failing) to jump up on the couch. The curtains were slightly open, and a stripe of sunlight rested in a line on the carpet next to him. Connor didn’t as much as swing his legs out of the blankets as _remove_ his legs, careful not to hit Sumo on the way out. The dog boofed at him, almost as if he were thanking Connor for his thoughtfulness, then scrambled his way into the space Connor previously inhabited. Connor didn’t know if Hank _allowed_ Sumo to be on the couch, but Sumo just looked so content to just snuggle with Connor’s warm blankets, he didn’t even try to convince him to move.

Connor stood a little too quickly, the feeling of lightheadedness pulling him back down towards the couch, where he happily pet Sumo until the blood stopped rushing from his head. He got up again, this time grabbing a change of clothes and heading to the bathroom.

Minutes later, he walked into the kitchen to check the time, still mourning the loss of his phone. _It was taken too soon,_ Connor thought with a small frown, _like all good things, it wasn’t meant to last._ The wall clock read somewhere around 9:30, and it wasn’t until realizing that Hank wasn’t around that he noticed the neon pink sticky note on the table. 

Connor moved closer to read the rushed writing. _Connor,_ it read, _I’ve been called in to the station for a case - be back around 4. P.S: There’s food in the fridge if you get hungry. Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone!_

Checking the fridge, there was indeed some chinese takeout boxes, a half-full carton of milk, and some eggs, but not much of anything else. Despite the note, Connor closed the fridge without taking anything. He returned to the couch instead, where the bag from yesterday’s shopping spree sat innocently. 

_Wait! It’s Christmas Eve!_ Connor rushed to pull on some socks, digging in the duffle bag for his wallet. _I still need to get Hank something! And shouldn’t I get Detective Reed something, too? Oh, but the stores are going to be hectic, with what yesterday looked like..._ He sat on the floor next to the door, tying his shoes and ignoring the split ends of the shoelaces. He searched the kitchen for a spare key to the front door, only finding one after nearly upending an inconspicuous drawer next to the oven. He refilled Sumo’s water bowl, noting that his food bowl was half empty from Hank’s apparent morning feeding, then pulled on the too-puffy coat and left for the store (after locking the door behind him and giving Sumo one more _who’s a good boy_ pat).

\-----

Connor walked to the nearest bus stop (totally not freaking out over just how long it took for him to get there because he got lost not once, but _twice_ ) payed, and rode it to the mall Hank took him to yesterday. As expected, it was crazy busy, being the only real shopping mall for miles _and_ the fact that it was Christmas Eve, but Connor was small, and navigating his way through the crowds was a breeze. 

As he moved through the sea of last minute shoppers, Connor thought back to his night in the station, and to the night of the blizzard. He thought of Hank’s little notepad, and of the stained coffee mug the detective used. Connor knew what he wanted to get for them.

After looking through a few old stores filled with things like pocket knives, watches, and (strangely) old iphone airpods, he found himself in a ceramics goods store a good 30 minutes later, examining several different types of mugs. He was looking for one that said something along the lines of _you won’t like me until I’ve had my coffee,_ but after reading nearly all the coffee inspired designs they had, Connor had had enough, and picked up a rather simple looking plain dark blue one. It had the words _good morning_ in a simple, handwritten font in white on the side, and after checking the price, _only $10?_ , he gently cradled it in his arms before taking it to the cashier and paying for it. 

Across from the mug store sat an old fashioned paper goods store, tagline boasting something along the lines of a _nostalgia trip_. Connor thanked his lucky stars as he gently pushed his way to notebook area. He leafed through several different brands and styles, eventually settling between a light yellow plastic covered one and a recycled material one. He tried not to choose based on price, but after _accidently_ looking at the plastic covered tag and _totally not directly comparing it_ to the recycled material, he payed and left the store with two nice pens and the _totally not more expensive_ brown colored notebook.

Connor left the mall with very little money left in his pocket, just enough for the ride back to the bus station near Hank’s home and not much more. After getting off and starting towards the house, he adjusted his grip on the bags. Connor couldn’t help but think about just how broke he was right now. _Was it worth it?_ he thought, _what if I needed that money? What if they don’t even like what I got for them?_ He bit the inside of his cheek absentmindedly as he walked up to the door. 

He got inside, Sumo acting like the last line of defense, but not really trying to actually protect anyone, and hides the gifts under the couch. He went to the kitchen to check the time again, the wall clock reading around 2pm. 

Connor sighed in relief. It wasn’t 4 yet, so he had time to wrap the gifts. He went to the side closet, where Hank got the blankets for him, and moved a few things around searching for some wrapping paper. Finding none, Connor took a shaky breath. _Okay,_ he thought, _I don’t know where the wrapping paper could be. Or if Hank even **has** any wrapping paper._

Connor paced around the house, looking for anything that he could use as wrapping paper. There were the blankets on the couch, but Connor needed those to sleep, and Hank would notice if one of them went missing for a night. The towels in the bathroom could work, but Hank would notice if they were gone, too. Connor furrowed his brow and dug in his pocket for the quarter minted in 2034. He flicked it from hand to hand, dropping it occasionally. He accidently sent the poor thing flying, and it ended up in the kitchen. Dutifully retrieving the coin, Connor took the time to look around, where, luckily, he spotted a newspaper bagged in flimsy, red plastic sitting innocently on the counter. 

Connor grabbed the paper, leaving the coin spinning on the table in his haste. He snatched a pair of kitchen scissors and some tape on his way to the couch, where he pulled out the gifts and attempted to wrap them as best he could. 

The mug was tricky, but after carefully unwrapping it to check for price tags, removing the one stuck to the bottom, Connor rewrapped it in the paper it came in, then covered the paper with the newspaper. He used one of the pens meant for Hank to write _To Detective Reed_ on the front.

Wrapping the notebook was relatively easy, and after Connor took off the tag on the front and carefully wrote _To Hank_ on the newspaper, he wrapped it and the two pens as best he could. 

He placed both presents on the table and took a step back to examine them. To be completely honest with himself, they weren’t that great. The mug had one spot where the newspaper was bunched up to no end, and other areas where it was kinda obvious that whoever wrapped this, they didn’t really know what they were doing. _Well,_ Connor thought, _at least it doesn’t look like a mug anymore._

The notebook was marginally better. The pens made the front look awkward, and Connor only now thought to wrap the pens individually. There was an unsightly seam right down the middle of the book, absolutely covered in tape. Connor frowned. 

Running to the kitchen to check the time again, it was almost 4 now, he quickly wrapped another piece of newspaper around both presents. It didn’t make them look any better, but it did hide the seam on the notebook and the bunched spot on the mug. Connor, though still upset at his subpar wrapping job, gave up on them, and gently placed them back in their hiding spot under the couch.

Hank walked through the door not two minutes later brandishing a large, rectangular box. 

\-----

“You want to help set it up, kid?” Hank asked, cutting through the tape on the box. Sumo was plodding around it, sniffing the foreign object. 

Connor stared at the box, and as Hank finally opened the thing, he stared down at the dark green branches inside. “U- Um. I don’t know what to say.”

Hank turned to him with a mirthless laugh, “A yes would be nice.”

“Oh, haha, yeah, um, yes. I’d like to help.”

Hank turned the TV on to a jazzy Christmas music station, and they spent the next hour setting up the fake tree, stringing some colorless lights on, and adding other decorations as they saw fit. Hank argued against some gold tinsel for Sumo’s sake, but allowed a red decorative ribbon to be strung on the tree like the lights were. They added some mismatched ornaments, some red, some blue, green, and yellow, and this one really ugly looking once-white ball that must have gotten into Sumo’s mouth at one point. Hank laughed as Connor put it on the tree, but didn’t argue against it. 

When it came time for the star, Hank handed it to Connor without a word. Connor gave a short, “Thanks,” before standing as straight as he could to carefully place the star on top. Once Connor had it fully situated, he turned to Hank and beamed as it turned on when Hank plugged in the lights. 

Connor gently adjusted the tree skirt beneath the tree, making it as straight and as perfect as humanly possible. Once done, he stood and admired the tree with Hank at his side. “Nice job, kid,” Hank said, a smile clear in his tone of voice. “Looks good.”

Sumo boofed in agreement, and Connor laughed. “Yeah, I like it.”

It wasn’t perfect - there were some gaps in the branches here and there, and a few bulbs in the lights weren’t working even after Hank replaced them with new ones. The ribbon was too tight in some areas, and in others it was too loose. The ugly not-white ornament was placed high and center, and Sumo looked at it hungrily. 

And yet, it was just right for Connor and Hank. 

After a few minutes of noticing imperfections and ignoring them, Hank spoke up, “Hey, Connor?” He made a _hm?_ sound, and Hank continued, “How does some hot chocolate sound?” 

Connor turned and smiled, a look of pure happiness on his face. “That sounds wonderful, Hank.”

They spent the rest of the evening on the couch, sipping hot chocolate and making each other laugh by telling bad Christmas jokes until Connor drifted off to sleep.

\-----

Connor was cold. 

Opening his eyes, the living room was pitch black except for the soft glow of a distant kitchen nightlight. He gently moved the blankets off of him and stood and shivered. He wrapped his arms around himself and rubbed them, but he only shuddered harder. He looked around in the dark, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

Something felt… _off._ Something was different. Something had changed. Connor shifted his gaze from one inky black blob to the next, but couldn’t make out anything concrete in the darkness. 

He moved to the window and slowly drew the curtains back, the gentle moonlight filling the room with a soft light. It wasn’t enough to, for example, read by, but at least Connor could tell what was what now. 

A small mound of blankets sat on the floor next to the couch. Normal. The bookshelf that normally held a record player and a pile of vinyls was cleared off. Not quite normal. The coffee table was missing, and so was Connor’s ~~borrowed~~ duffle bag. Very not normal. 

Connor’s hands started to shake. He raised them up to look at them vibrate before shoving them behind his back. He took a shaky breath through his nose.

The bookshelves against the far wall seemed to be in order. Normal. Sumo was missing from his corner. Not quite normal. The TV was gone, and the short TV stand was moved away from the wall. Very not normal.

His breath quickened, and he was suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. He tried to take another breath to calm himself down.

There was a soft light coming from the kitchen. Normal. There was glass on the ground next to where the TV should have been. Not quite normal. The window next to the record player was shattered. Very not normal.

Connor was full on hyperventilating at this point, thinking too fast and heartbeat racing. He gripped his hair with trembling hands and pulled tight. 

The house was quiet. Normal. The couch to the right of Connor’s makeshift bed was moved slightly. Not quite normal. There was a stain of spreading crimson red on the floor, and Connor couldn’t tell what it was. Whose it was. Very not normal. 

He slammed into the wall beneath the window behind him, breathing way too quick, heart thundering, hands pulling, whispering _no, no, no_ over and over and _over_ and _**over**_ and-

He woke up. 

\-----

He leapt out of bed, cleared the coffee table, and rushed for the window next to the vinyls. He couldn’t see through the darkness, but Connor moved anyways, courage and fear as motivation. Placing both unsteady hands on the glass, Connor took a sigh of relief, then sunk to the floor, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

Sumo was asleep in his spot, moving and snoring softly, completely oblivious to Connor’s antics.

He just sat like that, just breathing and thinking pretending like he couldn’t still see the phantom image of an ever growing slowly wider red _red **red**_ stain on Hank’s carpet.

He thought of Daniel, of Shaolin, of Victoria and Todd. He thought of Amanda, and of the fostering agency, and of going through the motions. He thought of missing TVs and vanishing dogs, of broken glass and shattered windows, of the color red, and a missing bag. He thought of shopping trips, expensive hoodies, and broken phone screens, of missing coins and forgotten chargers.

He thought of being a burden, of being the last choice, of being the forgotten one. He thought of being useless, of being a failure, of being abandoned. He thought of not being wanted. He thought of being lucky to be born.

He thought of being unloved.

He thought of Hank, and of a past he couldn’t hope to ever learn of. He thought of late night hot chocolate, winter vacation, and snow storms. He thought of running. He thought of moving. He thought of leaving. 

He thought of a past Hank would never want to hear. He thought of escape.

When Hank woke up hours later feeling excited to watch the kid open presents Hank had tirelessly and tediously wrapped the night before, Connor was already gone.

\-----

In the end, Connor ran. 

Blinking the red out of his eyes, he stood and packed his things into the ~~borrowed~~ duffle. He didn’t want to take anything of Hank’s, but the blankets were so _warm,_ and _he couldn’t possibly notice just **one** missing, right?_ He stuffed the smallest one into the bag anyways, and tried not to think about it. 

He didn’t bother pulling his socks on, and as he swung the bag over his shoulder, he opted out of shoes too. Leaving them both next to the door, Connor pulled the tattered hood of his old hoodie on and left, ignoring the unlocked door on purpose.

He took a breath, and a billow of water vapor exhaled with him.

He stepped into the street and faced towards the city.

He dropped the bag to his side.

He stood perfectly still, too scared to move and disturb the peacefulness. Too-quick puffs of warm air turned into thin fog and swirled around him, vanishing into nothing. Tiny white glitters of snow fell gently, slowly adding to the thin layer on the street and muffling the noise of the city. He looked towards the horizon, slowly drinking in every detail of the empty street, from the small pile of shoveled snow to his left to the tire marks of several long gone vehicles. The sheer cold of the asphalt on his bare feet was almost unbearable, but he didn’t care. It was cold. It was quiet. It was lonely. Minutes, maybe hours, or even days passed like this.

A lampost flickered.

The rumble of a far away engine shook the ground.

A dog barked in the distance.

Finally, he moved, hefting the bag into his arms, the snow crunching and melting under his steps. He didn’t care that it was cold. He didn’t care about the possibility of frostbite. He didn’t care that he was unwanted, unneeded, unloved.

He just walked, the snow crunched, and this was normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. 
> 
> I'm also sorry for not updating sooner. This chapter was done, as in finished and nearly ready to be uploaded (just needed the italics and such done) in January. _January._  
>  There isn't an excuse for my absence. I'm just sorry. I promise to do my best in updating this more often (that is, more often than ONCE EVERY 5 MONTHS).  
> I plan for this fic to (at least) have 4 more chapters. If that doesn't happen in a timely manner, feel free to scream at me.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm linearleaf, and this is my first DBH fic (if you can't tell). Tell me what you think of it in the comments below! I'd love to receive some feedback on this so I can make it better for you guys.
> 
> This fic is heavily inspired by [The Road That Leads Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333825/chapters/35577744#workskin), by [BiziBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiziBee/pseuds/BiziBee). I highly recommend you check out their fic, because it's miles better than this one. <3


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